Black Madonna

24

Kristen was so full of the delights of it all at breakfast the next morning that even Streak didn’t have the heart to puncture her mood with something sarcastic, The lanterns and cafes of the night had enchanted her, and the eerie, smooth passage of the gondola across the waters had seemed like gliding across silk. Appraising Serrin at the breakfast table, Streak decided that the origin of the slight shadows under his eyes was fairly obvious. He resisted commenting about men with younger wives especially since, after all, Serrin was an elf like himself and there was some fraternity involved on that count.

“Our friends will be with us shortly after lunch,” Streak told Geraint, “Earlier than they’d originally planned, which is all right, innit?”

“Just as well,” Gerairn fretted. He was fretting a lot, and fretting all the more because he really wasn’t sure why. “I have to leave you for a while, I’m afraid. I promised to take breakfast with some ghastly little secretary at the consulate, It’s necessary if we’re to have backup for our enquiries at the Doge’s offices. It will look odd if they check and find I haven’t actually been in touch with the consulate. Plus I really should get some hints on who to avoid among the paper-pushers.”

Getting up, having drunk only some much-needed coffee, Geraint made an excusing gesture of farewell and bolted for the door.

“He isn’t well in himself,” Kristen observed.

Michael nodded agreement. “It may be what happened yesterday.”

“That woman? That Countess? It might be that, but I don’t think so,” she said.

“You’re an expert on that now, are you?” Streak enquired, not passing up some chance for a bit of mischief.

“I can tell when a man’s got a woman on his mind,” she snorted derisively.

“And it’s not that?”

“It’s more than that, trust me.”

Claudio approached from the door to the kitchens, beaming happily.

“Yes, our breakfast is great, thank you,” Michael said, heading off the enquiry.

The man waved his hands in a slightly dismissive manner. “Oh I know that. You English always say that. I could serve you the cloths we use for washing the plates in a sauce made from the scrapings from our trash bins and you English would say it was fine, thank you very much please may I have some more? Have you heard the news today?”

“News?”

“The Doge’s wife,” Claudio said with much satisfaction.

“Um, what about the Doge’s wife?” Michael asked, wishing he’d checked the news, unhappy that someone else had information before him.

“The Doge has wanted a son for the six years they have been married,” Claudio said with a slight trace of disapproval. Clearly, the Doge’s wife had not been all she should have. The image of the silver replica axe crossed Michael’s mind. “And now he is not without a male heir!”

“Oh, they’ve had a son? Well, um, excellent,” Michael mumbled, not entirely sure what he was supposed to say.

“Better than that, she has given him two fine sons.” Claudio stood beaming with his arms crossed, as proudly as if he had fathered the pair himself. “They would have known, of course, the doctors, but it was kept quiet during the pregnancy. But now she has given birth, and all Venice will be so proud.”

“I’m sure,” Michael said. “Well, that’s splendid.”

“So I wondered if you would want me to arrange your costumes? My cousin Franco, he has a very fine collection. You can choose from the catalog. I bring you a copy.” He turned to go.

“Excuse me, Claudio, just a minute. What do you mean, costumes?”

“There will be a carnival, of course, for today and tonight. Everyone must wear one of the costumes. You will not be able to go out without one, not after noon. It will be very bad manners.”

“Rakk off!” Streak hissed under his breath.

“They are splendid,” Claudio said, either not hearing him-or ignoring him. “It is usual to wear only an eye mask and light costume for the day, but for the night the full costume will be required, of course. There will be wine and song and feasts everywhere, but you eat with me, yes? You will look fine. For the signora, white silk for that wonderful skin, yes? And the gilded masks for the men. You ask Lucrezia to pick the costumes for you.” He waved a finger at the males.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Michael said. If Lucrezia was to be unleashed on them, they had better take it in a fully compliant spirit.

“Just don’t argue with her,” he said to Streak, who was bristling a little. “I don’t care that you have all that chrome. She could flatten you. I’ve seen her in action. You could be decapitated with a dinner plate.”

“What is this drek? Carnival? We’re not here for a fragging carnival,” Streak replied. “That’s what you’re paying me for? To dress up and prance about like some ponce?”

“Look, if we get what we need from the Doge’s offices we may be out of here after lunch,” Michael said. “so don’t grumble. Maybe we won’t have to worry about it at all.”

“Well, then, let’s bloody hope that his lordship gets some joy out of the pen-pushers,” the elf said flatly.

“Yes, let’s hope indeed,” Michael agreed fervently.

Geraint was back by ten, his stock of forced good humor exhausted by an extraordinarily tiresome underling who’d spent most of breakfast whining about his low salary and complaining that London never paid any attention to anything he did or reported. Geraint had had to utter scores of emollient sentences and gotten little help in reply, since the disgruntled secretary clearly loathed everyone on the Doge’s staff fairly indiscriminately.

“When I get back home I’ll make sure the little sod gets transferred to a ghastly posting somewhere hot and humid and riddled with malaria and that nice endorphin-destroying virus that’s been sprouting in southeast Asia” he growled to Michael. The Englishman smiled, brushed away the last crumbs of an ample breakfast from his lap, and padded toward the exit.

They headed through the piazza and decided to make their way to the palatial offices via the basilica itself. Though they’d allowed plenty of time to make the appointment Geraint had fixed for ten-thirty, they were nearly late. The basilica simply offered too much for them to look at, whether it was the treasury built to hold the spoils of pillage from Constantinople or the mosaics of the atrium, the Pentecost dome or simply the opulent decorations of the aisles themselves. They found themselves on Rizzo’s Giants’ Staircase, the broad, vast steps leading to the landing where the Doges were crowned, with barely a minute to spare. They didn’t even have time to stop and gaze upon all the wonders of the palace itself.

Flourishing the insignia of His Majesty’s Government and announcing himself as Lord Llanfrechfa got Geraint past the clerks and paper-pushers faster than he’d hoped. He found himself, with Michael, seated across a desk from someone who gave every appearance of being quite a senior functionary in the Doge’s Office of Works. The office was, after all, barely ten meters from the sala dei tre capi, the chamber of the Doge’s Council heads, and proximity to such exalted men was a reasonable sign of seniority and influence.

“So what can I do for Your Lordship on this happy day?” the man asked with the unforced good humor of someone who’s been told he’s getting the afternoon off as public holiday.

“I represent His Majesty’s Government,” Geraint said with due ceremony. “We are most interested in the reports dealing with pollution of the canals and lagoon of the city. If I may say so, judging from this and my past visits, Venice is more beautiful and cleaner than I have ever seen it.”

The man was obviously pleased to see that Geraint was, apparently, a regular visitor, and he seemed to bristle with a certain pride.

“Well, we like to think so,” he said cheerfully.

“His Majesty’s Government is most interested because we have similar problems with rising pollution levels in the Thames, which flows past our own seat of government just as waters flow around the palace here,” Geraint continued.

“Well, this is a global problem,” the clerk said, his brow furrowing a little. “I have had calls from as far away as San Francisco about this matter.”

“Indeed,” Geraint replied evenly. “Well, His Majesty would be most delighted to learn of any help you could provide regarding this remarkable and fascinating success. Naturally, my government would be only too ready to remunerate the Doge for such expert consultation and assistance.”

“That would be in the normal course of events,” the clerk said, smiling slightly.

“We had heard,” Geraint said, his voice dropping a little, that remarkable developments in magical techniques were involved, Naturally, we would not pry into such matters.”

“Naturally.”

“However, we have heard of work with water elementals.”

“You have?” the man said innocently.

“We have indeed,” Geraint said a little more strongly.

“Well,” the man said slowly, “I would like to help you. I myself read history at your university of Oxford, you know.”

Gotcha, Geraint realized with utter joy. The Oxford-Cambridge university cabal and old-boy network had a potency all but unequaled in the history of European civilization.

“Ah! Your college?”

“Balliol,” the man said with some pride.

“My private secretary is a Balliol man,” Geraint said authoritatively, “and so is my boss. I’ve dined there many times. Well, well.”

“I must ask you to respect confidences,” the man said, his manner more businesslike but still cheery.

“I can absolutely assure you that-”

“Very well” the man cut in. “It’s going to be obvious before very long so I think I can trust you, Lord Llanfrechfa.” He then looked at Michael rather pointedly.

“Ah. my friend. He is my traveling personal secretary,” Geraint lied. “And, of course, the very soul of discretion.”

Michael did a splendid job of looking blank but alert. “Unfortunately, Lord Llanfrechfa, I cannot help you because I do not know how the work was done,” the man said apologeticaily.

“Is there someone-”

Again he was anticipated. “I regret not. You see, no one really knows. This man came to us and said he could help with the problem of pollution. Of course, we thought he was just a, em, a time-waster. We have paid magicians for many years to deal with it, and the pollution simply returns time and time again. So we took no notice of him.”

“And then?”

“The following day, this was only last Wednesday, the man brought us a tray of bottles that he claimed were samples of water from the lagoon, the Grand Canal, and half a dozen tributaries. At first we ignored him, but then we had them tested. We were astounded by the results, so we sent our own people to conduct some tests. They confirmed that the pollution levels had fallen by an average of sixty-two percent. By Friday, the pollution levels were down to ten per cent of what they had been only three days before. The Doge’s magicians confirmed that there was intense elemental activity throughout the canal system of our city. A small group of our magicians attempted to conduct a ritual to investigate the exact nature of this activity and its source.” The man paused.

“And?”

“They are expected to be in the hospital for some time.”

“Good heavens!”

“We are astounded,” the man said simply. “Our fellow did not even give a name.”

“You must have a picture of him, surely?” Geraint insisted, as gently as he was able.

“Incredibly not. Of course, when we came here he was filmed by the security cameras.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Unfortunately, the films did not, ah, turn out correctly.”

He decked into their system and deleted everything, Michael thought. Obviously, this man doesn’t want to tell us that. It’s tantamount to saying that the Doge’s Matrix system was taken to bits. Not something a city functionary will want to admit.

“But you saw him,” Geraint said. “What did he look like?”

“That is the extraordinary thing. Everyone’s description is subtly different. It is as if, somehow, everyone saw a different refraction of light from one facet of a prism. Everyone saw something slightly different.”

The metaphor struck Michael at once. How apt, he thought: an optical metaphor for our Leonardo-freak.

“There is a general picture that emerges, though. He is tall, with long gray hair, balding at the front, and he is fairly lean. It is very strange, though, that no one can agree on his age. Some think he was old, others that he seemed fairly young.

“And he was seen with someone else in his company and the witnesses do at least agree on that… with a young man, with long fair hair tied in a pony-tail. This is not an unusual fashion in certain Italian states,” he said with faint disapproval.

Blondie, Michael thought. It sounds like the man who saved Serrin back in Florence.

“And the man is still here?”

“Friday was the last day anyone saw him.”

“He was not tracked or traced?”

“I can assure you, Your Lordship, we had him followed. Unfortunately,” the man coughed with embarrassment-“it was somehow not possible to track him for any distance. Observers seem to have become confused and disoriented. And after the unfortunate business with the magicians, ritual magic was not deemed a wise approach.”

“I can certainly appreciate that.” Geraint smiled sympathetically. “Well, I hardly think you are at fault. This extraordinary fellow sounds as if he would have eluded the best efforts of His Majesty’s finest.

The reassurance seemed to make the man a little less unhappy, if not exactly cheerful.

“Well, I must thank you for your time, signor,” Geraint said. “I very much appreciate your frankness. You have saved me and my govermnent much time. Should this man ever return, I would be delighted to be informed. I hope that you will allow me to send you a small token of my esteem and gratitude when I return to London. I really do appreciate your openness and honesty.”

He meant it. The man had revealed a state of affairs that might, indeed, have become obvious sooner or later. But with so little time left to them, it had to be sooner and his honesty might just save them enough time to find their quarry before the world’s computer systems crashed.

They shook hands and departed, wandering slowly back through ever more crowded streets to where they were staying.

“This is extraordinary. That they couldn’t film him and that everyone saw someone different. And they couldn’t track him… What kind of man is this?” Michael was shaking his head in wonder.

Someone bloody extraordinary,” Geraint said. “But now we know for sure Blondie is with him.”

“I just don’t see how he could have done it,” Michael said. They must have had the police out after him. They probably still do.”

“Of course they did and he gave them the slip,” Getaint grinned.

By now, they were back in the piazza, and saw Serrin and Kristen just leaving the campanile. The marangona bell was tolling already, announcing the public holiday for those still not apprised of the Doge’s blessing, and crowds were beginning to build in the square. A few people already wore the black eye masks and dark cloaks of day attire for the celebrations, and tables were being brought into the square, though no more than a few from any of the cafes. The city ordinances were relaxed, but guardsmen were quietly checking that the square was not unduly cluttered. By midnight a huge crowd would be expected here and obstructions were going to be kept down to a minimum.

“Enjoy your sightseeing?” Michael asked Kristen.

“It’s amazing, you can see all over the city. Serrin says you can see Padova on a really clear day.” Kristen was beaming.

“Possibly a slight exaggeration,” Michael teased. “But it’s a great place to view from, that tower. If you can climb all those steps, that is.”

“Tell me about it,” Serrin croaked.

“At least I’ve got the excuse of a bad back,” Michael chuckled. “You’re getting old.” He poked the elf playfully in the ribs.

“And I have the excuse of a leg shot to hell,” Serrin reminded him.

“Sorry,” Michael apologized. “I’d forgotten that.”

“Wish I could.”

Streak waved cheerfully to them across the piazza. He sat, narrow-eyed, scanning the square, his jacket perhaps a little bulky for the morning’s warmth.

He’s keeping watch, Michael realized, and he’s got his usual armory inside that jacket. But it doesn’t seem like he’s going to need it today. Our man is, or at least was, here. We were right to come. But why was he doing what he did? How did he do it? And most of all, what does he want to do now and how do we find him? He remembered what Kristen had said. What would you do if you were Leonardo? The problem with that is tie simply didn’t know. The genius had every interest imaginable and picking which one might apply might now seemed impossible.

He wandered over to the painting of the Last Supper that Serrin had mentioned to him. It didn’t disturb him as much as it did the elf, but there was no doubt something was drastically wrong with the scene. The accusing nature of the disciples on the left was obvious. The seemingly disembodied dagger-wielding hand was obviously wrong; it belonged to no body portrayed.

How on earth did no one see this? Michael thought. How did he get away with this with the Inquisition around, with vicious and venal churchmen all around, all too ready to accuse a talent of whom they had the petty envy of the professionally self-righteous? Whatever this is all leading to, it isn’t small beer. And, somehow, I think I can see how the collapse of the Matrix is, like Merlin said to Serrin, actually not the most important thing.

So what is?

His reverie was shattered by an extraordinary sight. Trundling into the square, northward from the piazzetta. was the most peculiar vehicle Michael had ever seen. It looked like a medium-sized armored snail on wheels, and it was decked out with a mass of flags. The flags bore what appeared to be abstract designs, but as it got closer they seemed to show flowing waves of water and arcs of light. The people in the square assumed this was some early part of the carnival celebrations and cheered at its approach.

Behind them, Streak’s hand reached into his jacket pocket. As he did so, the gesture was matched by that of two men standing, cloaked and masked, just outside Florian’s, the cafe almost directly opposite Quadri’s.

The vehicle stopped.

Streak’s silencer kept the sound of the missiles down to an absolute minimum. Behind him, a maid was vigorously using a vacuum cleaner on the cafe floor and carpets. He hoped it would cover the noise.

As the first of the men in cloaks dropped to the ground, the vehicle began to fall apart a few meters from the campanile. Guardsmen were rushing to the area now to see what was happening.

A bullet missed Kristen’s ear by no more than a few centimeters. Serrin heard the sound and flung her to the ground beneath him, looking around wildly for the unknown assailant. Streak nodded his head with satisfaction as the second cloaked man hit the ground. Next to him, a puzzled and obviously terrified middle-aged tourist woman was beginning to develop the first symptoms of what would undoubtedly turn out to be a suitably histrionic hysterical fit.

As the armored snail disintegrated, its metal plates appeared to evaporate as they hit the surface of the piazza.

A young man stood up inside the vanishing wreckage utterly immaculate in black jacket, pants, and cloak with the full gold face-mask of the carnival. A long pony-tail of blond hair hung down his back. He bowed low to the cheering crowd, kissed an utterly bewildered guardsman on both cheeks, and skipped away eastward. Geraint shot after him like a greyhound after a rabbit.

Serrin crafted a barrier spell for himself while Streak’s eyes darted everywhere among the crowd. Around the two men on the ground at Florian’s a knot of people was gathering and guardsmen were rushing to the scene. Michael could do little. Unable to keep up with Geraint because of his bad back, he could only bustle toward Serrin and Kristen.

The snail had completely vanished. The illusion had been allowed to decay.

The youth sped like the blazes, laughing as he went. Geraint knew he couldn’t catch him, and was about to abandon his forlorn pursuit as his quarry headed for the bridge over the Rio del Palazzo. Then he turned suddenly and called out to his panting pursuer.

“My master sends his regards and trusts he will continue to enjoy the game,” the stranger called out cheerfully and then vanished across the bridge into the labyrinth of streets beyond. There was nothing for Geraint to do but return to the piazza.

Streak, staying put, was dismayed to see that the fallen assassins were being taken inside the cafe from which they’d appeared.

They were going to be taken away by friends and there wasn’t much he could do about it. The crowd of people in the way were slowing the approaching guardsmen sufficiently that any backup inside the place-and surely they must have some-would get them out in time. If only that damn stunt hadn’t had the police all going the wrong way! What the blazes was that thing?

Still, no one saw the narcoject. Better bet than the Predator here. You could always plead self-defense with a non-lethal weapon.

Frag it, he told himself maybe I should have used the Predator after all.

Having scanned the square enough times, he risked walking over to Serrin and Kristen, back on their feet now, and Michael.

“You okay?”

“Who the hell-”

“Couple of guys over at Florian’s,” Streak told them. “I dropped them with some dozies. Keep them out of action for a while. Didn’t think I could risk the real thing. I might have been wrong.”

“Owe you one,” Serrin asserted with real feeling. “I don’t understand why my spell lock didn’t pick them up.”

“You got an enemy detector?” Streak had worked with combat mages long enough to know the basics. Serrin nodded.

“Then they weren’t after you, was they? They was trying to whack Kristen,” Streak said cheerfully.

“Why?” Serrin was appalled.

“Don’t ask me, I’m just the guy who stopped her getting filled with lead,” Streak said. “Oh, and what was that thing that just rolled into the square and where the frag is it now?”

“It must have been an illusion,” Serrin said. “I didn’t have time to observe it closely. Not with being shot at, hitting the dirt, that sort of thing, you know?”

“Next time,” Geraint said as he returned to join the conversation, “shoot at that little blond bastard. Know what he said to me?” Without waiting for the obvious reply, he told them.

“The game?”

“I knew it was something like this,” Michael mused. “We have to learn to play his game somehow.”

“That thing,” Serrin said slowly, as if searching through his memory as he spoke, that tank thing, it reminds me of something. I didn’t get long to look at it, but I think it was like one of Leonardo’s designs. I think I saw something like that in the book I’ve got.”

“Part of this game?” Geraint wondered.

“So what’s next?”

“What’s next, guys and gals, is that we ought to get indoors in case there are any more prats in cloaks wanting to take a pop at us. We’ve got to consider our options, and make some plans instead of falling around out here,” Streak said. “Unless you’d like to be shot at again, that is.”

“Let’s get inside,” Serrin said at once. “And let’s consider how the frag we play this game. Some game, if my wife’s getting shot at.”

“I think,” Streak said, “that those guys were playing one of a very different kind. The kind where there’s guaranteed to be tears before bedtime.”